


The Seasons of Callum Highway

by viralmembrain



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Character Study, Child Abuse, Coming of Age, Gen, Hurt Callum "Halfway" Highway, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viralmembrain/pseuds/viralmembrain
Summary: “I’m not like most blokes ‘round here, I’m not. I’m not like most blokes anywhere. I’m not my brother, I’m not my dad and I’m not Mick. I was never a fighter. Wasn’t one of the boys. I’ve never been a ladies’ man. Never fitted in anywhere. Not at home. Not in the army. Anywhere.”This is the story of how Callum Highway came to be.Content warnings: Child abuse, implied homophobia/sexism, attempted sexual violence, bullying
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	The Seasons of Callum Highway

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Callum Highway character study. I’ve tagged it Ballum because I think that that particular fan community might be interested in this story, but Ben Mitchell doesn’t actually appear as a character. All quotes that appear in Italics at the beginning of sections are taken directly from the show. I’ve done my best to reflect the East London dialect in the dialogue, but I am not British so be forewarned. I appreciate any feedback. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Content warnings: Child abuse, implied homophobia/sexism, attempted sexual violence, bullying

_“Even when you was a kid!”_

**Spring 1997**  


**6 years old**

Callum struggled to remove the trowel from the packed earth. He’d been pulling on its green, cracked handle for several minutes now but to no avail. Mrs. Roderick had seemed reluctant to give it to him in the first place and he didn’t want her to be disappointed. That morning, he had approached her cautiously as she tended her crocuses. When she finally looked up at the sound of his scuffling trainers, he had excitedly pleaded for her help unearthing the ancient Egyptian artifacts that were surely hidden in the mud behind the old sofa in his back garden. Untold hieroglyphic-adorned treasures lay just below the topsoil, waiting for an intrepid archaeologist such as himself to uncover them.

“Just like on telly!” He’d exclaimed, beaming.

She’d given him a soft smile, sighed and handed him the small trowel laying unused at her side.

“Now you promise to bring it back by tea, dear?” She’d asked in a serious tone, though her eyes glinted with gentle affection.

Callum had nodded emphatically whilst grabbing the tool.

“Thank you, Mrs. Roderick!” he had yelled as he ran from her yard back to his house on the corner.

Now it was nearly tea, and not only was he without any golden scarabs, but the trowel had somehow become lodged beneath a rather large, stubborn rock. He was about to concede defeat when a small wiggling form caught his eye. Crawling out of the weeds at the base of the fence was a caterpillar. It was mostly white, with a smattering of black spots and thin hairs all along its body. It inched slowly through the curling leaves, defying gravity as it went. Callum’s eyes widened as he reached his hand carefully towards the creature. He held very still as it crawled onto his index finger. He giggled softly at the tickling sensation before bringing it up to his face to get a better look. It was beautiful, he thought. Trowel long forgotten, Callum stood up, careful not to dislodge the caterpillar which had now settled itself onto his small palm. He walked towards the open backdoor, his eyes remaining fixed on his charge the whole time.

\--

Their lounge was cramped, and dimly lit. Crumpled newspapers and empty cans of lager covered the coffee table. The plaid loveseat was buried beneath dirty clothes, partially completed colouring books, broken crayons and cheap plastic toys. In the far corner, their old television displayed a grainy image of the day’s football match. His father sat in the large recliner opposite, sipping from a can and picking mindlessly at a tear in the armrest’s fabric.

Callum sped up as he approached. “Look what I found Dad!” he shouted as he entered his father’s sight-line, extending his hand proudly.

“Get outta the way Callum,” his father grumbled while gesturing for the young boy to move, though his eyes barely strayed from the screen.

Callum shuffled slightly to the right but kept his arm extended. He bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet. “Dad! Dad! Look! Isn’t it pretty?” He grinned as he thrust his arm further towards his father.

This time the man paused and looked at the creature now crawling along his youngest son’s dirt-caked fingers. After a moment, his eyes flickered towards the boy’s face. His expression then changed to a deep scowl, and he stood abruptly, slapping Callum’s hand to the side as he went. The caterpillar was flung to the floor beside the man’s right foot. Without hesitation, he lifted his boot and crushed the poor thing into the grey, already-stained carpet. Once he was satisfied with its destruction, he rubbed his boot once along the ground then turned back to his son.

It took Callum a moment to realise what had just happened. He casually rubbed the back of his newly sore hand as he stared at the bits of white and green goo now stuck in the lounge carpet. Slowly, his eyes filled with tears.

“It’s a fucking pest.” His father grabbed Callum’s chin roughly, forcing the boy’s eyes upward. “Why can’t you just go out and play footie like a normal lad, eh?”

Callum began to shake as sobs silently wracked their way through his small form.

“Oh what, you gonna cry now? Like a little girl?” his father mocked with a sneer. He released Callum’s chin before looking back at the remains of the caterpillar. “Now I gotta clean this mess up,” he huffed and then stormed out towards the kitchen.

Callum was left stationary and trembling. Tears streamed down his face, leaving behind their trails in the dirt on his cheeks. He couldn’t avert his gaze from the spot on the floor. His lips quivered as he let out a small cry.

After a few minutes, his father re-entered the room clutching a wet dishtowel. “I reckon I’m gonna sign you up for them kids’ boxing courses at the rec centre,” he stated as he kneeled to scrub the carpet. “We’ve gotta toughen you up son! Can’t have you growing up a goddamn princess, can we?”

Holding back another sob, Callum sniffled and wiped his nose with the end of his shirt sleeve.

Once his father had completed his cursory clean, he stood back up and threw the dishtowel onto the ever-growing pile of debris on the loveseat. He glanced at his son briefly before falling back into the recliner with a contented sigh. Throughout the entire ordeal, the beer can had never once left his hand.

Callum spent the next hour sitting on the floor by the coffee table, absentmindedly running one of his trucks along his leg, eyes occasionally flickering between the television and his father. When Mrs. Roderick eventually returned for her trowel, he bowed his head in shame and told her he’d lost it.

* * *

_“You was always getting Lee into trouble…”_

**Summer 2002**

**11 years old**

Callum nudged his chair a bit closer to the computer screen. The Carters had left him and their eldest son, Lee, alone for the afternoon. The two of them had decided that they were far too old to go to the zoo with the younger kids. Besides, Lee was excited to show off some new websites he’d found the other day. Callum didn’t have a computer at home and the school ones were strictly for work only, though he could proudly say that he’d secretly opened a flash game or two when the teacher was distracted. He and Lee had spent the better part of the last twenty minutes browsing an e-card website, giggling as they opened crudely animated videos of dancing animals, birthday cakes and fart clouds. Eventually, Lee turned to him with a particularly devious grin.

“Now this, Halfway, is the best part!” Lee said excitedly as he pointed to a large red and black heading.

ADULTS ONLY (18+)

Callum fidgeted in his seat as he watched Lee fill an arbitrary date into the age verification system. When his friend paused to carefully calculate the correct birth year, Callum interjected, “Are you sure? Won’t we get in trouble?”

Lee laughed while filling in the final numbers. “Who’s gonna know? Me dad can barely use a computer.”

Callum ran his hand nervously through his hair. “I dunno. The Internet people.”

Lee shook his head in amusement. “Trust me, yeah? It’s well worth it!”

He clicked the link and the screen was flooded with images. Like everything else on the site, they were mostly rather rudimentary drawings with the occasional photograph mixed in. Except this time, nearly every one showcased a pair of enormous, heaving breasts. Sometimes they took up the entire thumbnail; other times they were part of a larger image of a woman leaning suggestively, her hair flowing down behind her back or over her face. Callum’s eyes grew wide and he held his breath for a moment before swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat.

Lee leaned further towards the screen, stopped only by the edge of the desk. His grin widened as he let out a laugh of triumph. “See?!” He said pointing at a particularly egregiously proportioned woman.

However, what drew Callum’s eye was something else entirely. At the far-right edge of the screen was a still photograph of a nude man. He stood facing away from the camera with his legs open in a confidant, almost aggressive, stance. His muscular arms and shoulders were flexed, and they sparkled with an oily sheen. The lines of his waist descended to eventually frame a perfectly round, deeply tanned bottom. Underneath, in a large calligraphic font, was written: “Hope your birthday is ASStounding!”.

Callum felt a fluttering low in his stomach, accompanied by the slightest sensation of nausea and eventually culminating into a constricting warmth that spread outwards from his chest. It was the same feeling he sometimes got when Lee hugged him during a football match. Or the other day, when he saw one of the neighbourhood boys jogging through the park in a sleeveless top, and small, red shorts. This feeling was certainly addictive, though it occasionally teetered towards unpleasant. He shifted in his chair and attempted to school his face into something approaching nonchalant.

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool,” he said with a smile and small, forced chuckle.

Lee grinned back at him before clicking on another image, triggering its animation. “Some of ‘em even bounce and all,” he declared proudly as he watched cartoon nipples bob up and down.

In that moment, staring at the screen, it felt to Callum as if the floor between himself and his friend had cracked. An earthquake had rumbled through the little council house, splitting the ground and revealing a great chasm. A tremendously wide, unfathomably deep crevasse that Callum quickly realised he desperately needed to cross before it got any larger. Before Lee got any farther out of his reach. Small tremors began to curl their way through him.

“She’s fit,” he said, careful to keep a fake smile plastered on his face.

He reached for the orange juice on the desk, desperate to relieve the dryness taking hold in his throat. His hand felt like lead as he fumbled with the glass. In his haste, he squeezed too hard and his fingers lost purchase. The glass tipped towards the keyboard, spilling its sticky contents, before rolling off the surface and crashing to the floor.

The two boys sat momentarily stunned. Lee broke the silence first.

“You idiot! Me dad’s gonna kill me!” He yelled before jumping up and racing to the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry Lee!” Callum yelled after his friend. He watched helplessly as the liquid dripped off the desk’s edge onto the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the animated woman continue to flail her chest mindlessly on an endless loop.

When the Carters returned home later that afternoon to a damaged keyboard, Callum immediately took responsibility. Though he carefully sidestepped any mention of the website. After they both received an earful from Mrs. Carter, Lee had turned and patted him gratefully on the shoulder.

“Thanks for that mate,” he said conspiratorially with a smile.

Callum’s stomach fluttered.

* * *

_“He used to live down the Cadets. In every sort of weather, he’d be there, all year, with all his mates.”_

**Autumn 2005**

**14 years old**

The front door slammed shut behind him as Callum stormed into the house. He only vaguely heard the sounds of his father yelling an order to him as he raced up the stairs. He quickly shut his bedroom door, threw his schoolbag to the side and fell hard on the mattress.

His day had started off poorly. His older brother, Stuart, and his father were arguing loudly well into the night. Despite Callum’s best efforts to muffle the noise with his bedding, he’d only managed to fall asleep in the early hours. The next morning he’d rushed to school while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes and had barely made it in time for his morning maths exam. He’d lain his head on his desk, stared at the sheet and desperately tried to distinguish formulas from within the fog that had engulfed his brain. When he’d finally gotten up to hand-in his paper, his teacher had looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and pity. She often did that. Sometimes, if she had the motivation, she’d try and counsel him.

_“I don’t understand because you’re such a sweet boy Callum.”_

_“You could do so much better if you just applied yourself Callum.”_

_“Is everything alright at home Callum?”_

He was too tired to explain away his increasingly mediocre grades today. Which was why, when some of his Cadet friends suggested that they bunk off school early and head down to the field, he’d jumped at the opportunity.

They’d arrived at their usual spot in the early afternoon. A couple of the older boys had managed to grab some cases of beer from the local pub. One had even procured a few joints, though he refused to reveal where from. Callum stuck to the beer. He’d tried weed during the summer and hadn’t enjoyed it much. It made him jumpy and paranoid. The group spent the next several hours chatting, laughing and getting progressively more drunk. Soon, what had begun as a gentle ribbing among mates, transformed into a full-on roast with each boy being eviscerated in turn. Callum had stayed out of it for the most part, only contributing the occasional minor insult, until Brandon Wells had turned on him.

“Speaking of no skills with girls, I hear Halfway’s a virgin. Never even been kissed!”

Callum shrugged and let out a small laugh as a chorus of “Ooo’s” erupted around him. “What can I say, I’m just more discerning than you lot. Besides, girls like it when you play hard-to-get, dun they?” He took another swig from his can.

“Oh ‘discerning’,” Lee piped up from beside him, always keen to get a dig in on his friend. “That’s a big word for you. You eat your Alpha-Bits this morning?”

However, Brandon was quick to reclaim the mantle. “What’s the matter Halfway? You waiting on your ‘soulmate’? Or, you scared the birds will run the second they see your ears?” He leaned forward, causing his blue uniform shirt to tighten over the chest muscles that he'd built up through years of rugby. “Or maybe,” - he paused as a cruel smirk spread across face, bringing out his prominent check bones - “you know your cock’s too small to satisfy ‘em.”

“I reckon that’s why no one will get off with him,” yelled one boy from Callum’s far left. “‘Cuz they know it’ll only reach _halfway_ in!”

The crowd burst into hysterics. Callum struggled to maintain his smile. “Nah, nah, that ain’t true,” he protested over the cacophony.

As the laughter began to die down, Brandon stood up and walked towards him, stumbling slightly. His broad form loomed over Callum as he gestured for the younger boy to rise. “Go on then. Prove it.”

Callum looked up, forehead creased in confusion, as another round of “Ooo’s” spread through the group. “What d’you mean?”

“Let’s see what you’re packing then.”

“What?! No! I ain’t gonna do that!”

Brandon scoffed dismissively before he reached down and grabbed Callum by his jacket lapels, forcing him to stand. “You’re such a pansy Halfway.” His hands moved to Callum’s belt and began attempting to unbuckle it.

Callum lurched backwards. “What the hell are you doing?!” He pulled frantically at the older boy’s hands, but the grip remained strong and determined. Soon, his belt was loosened and opened.

“Look mate, I think that’s enough,” Lee piped up nervously from Callum’s side.

However, Brandon seemed unaffected by these protests and the two continued to tussle briefly. As large hands breached the waistband of his trousers, Callum felt a rush of pure terror flow through him. Without any thought, he pulled his arm back and swung as hard as he could. As his fist connected, Callum felt the hard bone of the boy’s eye-socket dig into his index finger. Brandon instantly released his grip to clutch at his temple, bending over in pain.

Callum struggled to refasten his belt, as the buckle seemed to have suddenly become inordinately complex.

“What the fuck Halfway?” Brandon slurred indignantly. Several other boys had gotten up to check on him. “It was a bloody joke!”

“You’re all fucking perverts!” Callum shouted, spit flying from his mouth. He picked up his schoolbag, turned, and ran. He heard Lee yelling his name in the distance as he stumbled over rocks and tree branches along the makeshift trail. It wasn’t until he reached the main road that he realised his hands were shaking. It wasn’t until he lay with his face buried in his pillow that he allowed the tears to fall.

He didn’t know how long he’d being lying there when he heard a loud knock on the door. He started and sat up, rubbing his hands across red, raw eyes.

“Boy! Don’t think you can go on ignoring me!” His father’s voice boomed through the door.

Callum swallowed hard. He slowly started to get up when he heard another voice, his brother’s, echo from down the hallway.

“Busy. Got homework and such, ain’t he?”

His father didn’t take kindly to the explanation and angrily snapped back at Stuart. It didn’t take long for the shouting match from the previous night to reignite, verbal barbs escalating as the voices moved away from the bedroom door and downstairs.

Callum fell back onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his head. It was going to be another long night.

* * *

_“No, no, love ‘em! They just don’t seem to like me.”_

**Winter 2009**

**18 years old**

Callum examined his reflection in the glass window of the club door. He adjusted his collar and attempted to smooth the hair beneath his woolen cap. He’d spent a good half hour trying on several shirts and even longer convincing himself to actually leave his house that night. Eventually, Stuart had given him a pat on the shoulder and a few teasing words of encouragement before shoving him towards the bus stop. It wasn’t like he could put this off much longer anyway; he was starting Army training in a few weeks. Taking a deep breath, he stood up to his full height and stepped inside.

He walked down the dark stairs, following the thumping and vibrations of the music. A couple brushed past on their way out, wafting him with a strong odour of tequila and cigarettes. Entering through the main double doors at the base of the stairs, Callum was hit with a wave of intense heat. The dance floor was teaming with pulsing bodies, visible only intermittently through the smoke and strobing, multicoloured lights. Beads of sweat formed on the back of his neck as he dropped his jacket and hat at the coat check and turned towards the bar. He leaned against its neon-lined frame in what he could only hope was a casual stance and, after a few fumbled attempts to signal the bartender, yelled out his beer order.

As he waited, he began scanning the crowd. Sitting at the far end of the bar was a group of women in their early twenties. They were chatting casually while sipping brightly coloured drinks. One wore a tight, cerulean blue dress and stood with her hip cocked confidently. A plunging neckline revealed her modest cleavage as she bent forward in laughter and let her long blonde hair to flow over her shoulders. When she straightened up, she tucked some strands behind her ear, showing off a large golden hoop earring. She was exactly the kind of girl Callum’s mates drooled over.

Callum took a deep drink from the bottle that had been placed in front of him. He had to start somewhere. Getting up, he made his way over to the group.

“Uh…excuse me…Miss?” he said hesitantly while he tapped the blonde woman on the shoulder.

She swayed and turned around. Her eyes gave him the once-over. She looked thoroughly unimpressed. “What’cha want?” she slurred.

“Uh…I was wondering if you’d…well…you look beautiful and I was wondering if you’d…um…fancy a dance?” Callum asked as he tugged awkwardly at his shirt.

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

Callum wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not. "Yeah," he replied.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her friends, some of whom sent pitying glances his way, before falling straight back into their conversation.

He shook his head and walked back around to his spot at the bar. Maybe he’d have better luck with someone on their own.

\--

By his eighth attempt, Callum was exhausted. Sweat had seeped into his shirt and his throat was beginning to feel like sandpaper. He was pushing his way through the crowd back towards the entrance, ready to swallow his pride for the evening. Without warning, a particularly enthusiastic dancer bumped into him and sent him careening straight into some bloke’s chest. The man grabbed Callum’s arms to steady him.

“Whoa there mate, you alright?”

It took Callum a moment to get his bearings during which time the hands tightened subtly around his biceps. The man was smiling with slightly glassy eyes and had glitter dotted over his cheeks. He was wearing a skinny, white T-shirt that was somewhat translucent with sweat and clung to his sides. Their close proximity also gave Callum a whiff of generic deodorant combined with musk.

“Yeah. All good mate. Thanks,” Callum said as he pulled away quickly, patting the man briefly on the arm in gratitude.

The man gave him another playful smile and wink before returning to his dance.

As Callum walked home through the dark streets, he swore he could still feel the indentations where dancer’s fingers had gripped his arms.

\--

When Callum entered the house, Stuart was sat in the recliner, sipping on can and watching a reality program. The glow of the television highlighted how the recent months had given him a sickly pale, gaunt complexion. Upon hearing the door open, he turned around.

“So, how’d it go? Get any numbers?” He asked encouragingly.

Callum let out a sigh as he leaned on the back of the loveseat.

“That bad, eh?”

Callum slumped into the seat and proceeded to recount each rejection of the evening. For the first several tales, his brother maintained a look of somber sympathy. By the time he’d got to the fifth the man’s face had broken into a grin. By the sixth he was no longer able to contain himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly through snorts of laughter, “but bloody hell Callum, you really can’t catch a break can ya?”

Callum felt a smile sneaking its way onto his face as he allowed the man’s words to sink in. Before long the sheer absurdity of the situation broke through his disappointment and he too descended into hysterics. They sat laughing together until tears rolled down their cheeks, something they hadn’t done in years. Suddenly, the evening felt less like a failure. It was an amusing story, a charming anecdote, a relatable tale of romantic woe, a point of connection. But perhaps more than anything else, it was an explanation.

In the months and years that followed, as he retold the story of his great clubbing disaster, he found the number of rejections increasing. When the lads in basic training bemoaned their sexual frustration, ten girls had rejected poor Halfway that night. When discussions with fellow soldiers turned to their wives and lovers back home, it became twelve. When pub patrons questioned why he wasn’t going out on the pull during leave, it became fifteen. And finally, one winter day, as he sat eating chips across from a beautiful woman with red hair, it became nineteen. He would have said a hundred girls, a million, however many it took to shield himself from her innocent question.

“What, you not into ‘em?”


End file.
